FireVaney's

Pop likes to tell stories. They usually fall into one of three categories: childhood adventures, investment triumphs (or blunders), and brushes with the Chicago “Outfit.”  Sometimes, shortly after launching into a tale, he'll stop to ask if you've heard it before. Your answer is of no consequence; he's going to repeat the story even if you've heard it a hundred times. This isn't out of spite. Pop can't help himself. Once the memory is recalled, it must be played out. Even if you help him finish the story, even if you beat him to the punch, or offer a summary, Pop will continue his spiel. It makes no difference how many times you interrupt with, "Yes, yes, I know. I've heard this one before.” What's nice is that Pop never tells a story the same way twice. He always adds a new detail, or shuffles the chronology of events. But he never lies—or, rather, he never intends to lie. Since the stroke, his memory still, occasionally, plays tricks on him. And ...

You walk into a bar and spot your crush. She spots you back and waves and squeals your name. Anyone else who notices, they smile—a few even go so far as to turn and smile—but they keep their waves and squeals to themselves. Not that you’re undeserving of waves and squeals, but, don’t fool yourself, you’re a bit player in a large cast of characters. She saw you first because her booth seat faced the door. You didn’t think she’d be at this bar. You figured she’d be at the other bar, the louder bar, in the neighborhood. It’s younger, hipper, trendier. You feel relief and frustration. Let’s unpack that: You feel relief because, here, you can keep an eye on her. And, perhaps, when the time comes, she’ll ask you, in some roundabout way, for a lift home. And then, who knows, maybe she’ll even invite you in. You feel frustration because, here, you can watch her flirt with all the boys and girls who are much cuter than you are. But, dude, you gotta quit kidding yourself. Let’s be realistic....

Rare is the natural-born chick magnet. Or, rather, rare in MY experience—which is, admittedly, severely limited—and, further, limited to Northern Flapjackistan. Regardless, my (admittedly) unsolicited advice? Young man: Take FULL advantage. Just my “two cents.” Just in case you aren’t already. This presumes that you are not a religious man. Presuming my aforementioned presumption is none too presumptuous, then, by all means, you absolutely MUST look upon this gift of yours as a biological FORCE of life—a FORCE you are, no less, of course, IMBUED with. YOU, sir, have a responsibility. Feel no guilt. But DO use protection. Please, by all means, SPREAD the “wealth” —and ONLY the “wealth,” if you catch my drift. * As for me, I’ll be up in the “stands,” so to speak, rooting you on. Best I can do. (MOST I can do, really, as I would not want to interfere.) But if I am lucky, perhaps some of your pheromonal magic will, in due course, rub off on me. Mayhap, just by hanging around you long enou...

Be careful, more careful, with your declarations. Why? Because you’ll always find a way to rebel against them. For example, you’ll state, for the record, that you listen to one thing, and then, shortly thereafter, you’ll stop listening to it altogether. You’ll say you write one way, today, and then, tomorrow, you’ll write in a completely different way. In this way, by making such declarations, you’ll embarrass yourself. Ergo, unless you have something to gain from the act of sharing, don’t share—ANYTHING—until it is absolutely necessary. Don’t set yourself up for failure by making declarations. Or promises. Lead, instead, by example. (How trite. How hackneyed. Well, you ARE a bit hungry.) You always overdo it: the declaration thing. You give too much away. Nobody wants that. They want mystery. They want to be teased. Stop giving away so much. Or, stop giving so much away. This over-zealousness must cease. It embarrasses you; it scares everybody away. Nobody buys it. I ask you: When has...